AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Indeed.”
“Diego, you sound funny. You’re not fucking me over, are you?”
“No, of course not. Have I not always been your very best of friends? From the first time we met at Trapper’s Fishery, to that time you fought off those Nihilists at the bowling alley. I would never screw you over.”
I stiffen up, and set my jaw hard.
“All right, Diego. Sorry I questioned your loyalty. Stay safe. I’ll be visiting soon.”
“If you could make that very soon, I’d–”
The call ends. A moment later, I get a text with the purported address.
I have no choice but to check it out. I run down the steps and jump the last landing, hitting the floor with a thud.
Then I’m out the door, not bothering to set the alarm. Everything worth protecting is gone, anyway.
Pretty soon, two things become clear. One, the private airstrip isn’t just private, it's unregistered. There are no signs, no billboards, no website for the airfield. When I put the address in my GPS, it comes back as a logging camp.
Two, once I hit the deep valley where the airstrip is hidden, I lose all bars on my cell phone. At least I have the map on my screen, even if the icon representing my truck is frozen in place. I can still follow the path.
Or can I? It’s a good thing I have four-wheel drive, because the potholed ridden gravel path I take can hardly be called a road. I don’t even know if it would pass as a hiking trail. Branches thump against my cab and grill as I plow down the rough forest path.
There are signs that other, smaller vehicles have been down this path, and recently at that. Some of the branches are already broken, with fresh white inner flesh on display. A cheap plastic hubcap sits on the side of what laughably passes for the road.
There’s only one way in to this place, and one way out. So when I estimate I’m less than a half mile from the airfield, I park the truck and leave it on the trail. Then I continue on foot.
SEAL stands for sea, air, and land. I’ve been trained for this. Looks like I’m on another hunt, but this time the prey might shoot back.
I break away from the trail, and move through the forest instead. This slows me to a crawl, but I don’t want to walk into an ambush. Out here, away from the bustle of the big city, sounds carry a long way. I step on hard upthrust roots, bare rock, and anywhere else stable enough to make no noise.
At last, I see a break coming up in the trees. The airfield appears before me. I’m surprised at how professional the paving on the runway looks. Somebody paid a real contractor to come out here and build this. Probably paid them twice as much as normal for their silence.
The runway is impressive, but the Hangar looks like something out of a horror movie. A multitude of branches, foliage, and camo netting covers the roof. Probably not enoughto stop a close inspection, but enough to fool satellite imagery for certain.
The hangar itself looks to be constructed of cast off junk from other structures. The majority of the walls are corrugated metal with generous amounts of rust. A side panel from a shipping container forms a patch on the north end. I even see some plywood tacked up in places.
One thing I don’t see? Any airplanes. Or people for that matter. I was already on guard. Now I’m straight up paranoid. No guards, no patrols, nothing. I don't even see any security cameras.
Literally nothing seems to prevent me from just walking across the open meadow to the hangar. And that’s exactly why I don’t want to do it. Land mines? Maybe. Booby traps of some sort could be present.
Even though it costs me nearly another half hour, I circle around the tree line until I reach the hangar entrance. It stands open about three feet, showing only a patch of blackness inside. Is nobody home? I find that unlikely.
“Cole Drake!”
I drop into a crouch and draw my 9 mil, taking cover by the side of the entrance. The voice came from inside, and it wasn’t Lovejoy. It wasn’t Emory, either.
So who does that leave? The Surgeon, or the Poisoner? Maybe both?
“Cole, Cole, Cole,” the voice comes again. “Can I call you Cole? I like to get on a first name basis with all of my prey.”
It has to be Blumbert, the Surgeon. At least if he’s here, he can’t threaten Emory’s family.
“You can call me anything but rude. I would never dream of turning down your invitation to play,” I call out through the open door. “If you’re smart, you’ll send Emory out. If you dothat, and she’s unharmed, we’ll be on our way. Should be plenty of time for you to run–”
“Cole Drake. It’s not like it was in the Navy, is it? You don’t have an army behind you anymore. Now it’s just you, and me.”
“You’re making a big mistake, Blumbert. The only way this ends–”
